Hybrid
by misaditas
Summary: Aeryn leaves John and Moya and finds herself at the site of the destroyed Command Carrier. Then a stray signal leads her to an impossible discovery... Alternate season four.
1. One

She makes no conscious decision in her heading, just flies the Prowler away from Moya, from Crichton, from everything. Running from the pain that threatens to suffocate her until her blurring focus fixes on the skeleton of managed metal that is the remains of the Command Carrier. Her mouth goes dry.

"_All the times I have endangered your life_..."

The memory returns with enough force that she jerks away, her body slamming into the back of her seat. She closes her eyes, but all she can see are his – dark and haunted – and snaps them open again with a gasp.

"_That was the beginning of my life_."

A tear escapes and slides down her cheek at what her life has become – the man she loves is dead, his copy ghosting on Moya, and Talyn is in pieces, shattered beyond recognition. She knows she has focused on the loss of the ship to avoid thinking about his loss, the sacrifice that still stuns her.

She told John that her mother's death severed the last of her Peacekeeper ties, believed that until the Carrier had shaken violently as the energy of Starburst had blow a hole in its side. Talyn, to a degree, was already dead – she had been a part of his decommission. His captain though… she felt his cheek under her palm, warm and vibrant, the rub of his beard against the heel of her hand and… Her hands tighten on the control until she can no longer feel the itch on the right.

"_All the times I have lied to you, hurt you_."

She did not consider how much it would hurt, still does. She has laid Talyn to rest but he… there is nothing left for her to mourn over. She, the only one that would, has not. Talyn touched them all, one way or another. Chiana, who oversaw his delivery, was almost catatonic with grief. Pilot, tethered to Moya, sharing a mother's grief for her child.

Aeryn shakes her head. D'Argo was the only one that mentioned Crais' name. She had ignored it, ignored the jolt inside her. Focused on Talyn because… because no one would have understood. She is not sure she truly understands herself. Because she would never consciously to come back here, to the site of his – their – demise. Joined to the last, and why did that thought make her feel worse rather than better? Why did she experience a pang of guilt?

"Stupid," she muttered to herself. "Emotional and stupid."

Perhaps. But as she yanks on the controls to pull the Prowler around, there is a soft blip. Aeryn freezes, her eyes flicking down. Cold sweeps over her as she recognises a life sign. Faint, so very faint, but there. It has to be impossible. There is no way he could have survived… could there? She does not know and she does not think, just wrenches the controls round and accelerates hard for the position.

Half an arn later, she sits on the ground of an unknown planet. The sky overhead is a pale, cloudless blue but it could have been orange or striped for all the attention she gives it. Her eyes are on one thing and one thing only – Bialar Crais, late of the Peacekeepers, barely recognisable, barely breathing as he lies motionless where she had laid him. She has no idea what to do, her thoughts in freefall as she takes in the blackened skin.

He is burnt, horribly by the looks of it, his clothing little more than shreds wrapped around him. Her stomach churns at the sight of him. How the frell has he survived? How is it that he is still breathing? She doesn't know, can only sit in stunned shock as she watches how his eyes flicker beneath the closed eyelids.

The stench is appalling. She knows it goes beyond Heat Delirium and straight to the Living Death. She cannot believe that anything of the man he had been can remain. Given the choice, she knows he would prefer death, but she has mourned him once. She isn't sure she can do what he would require of her.

Aeryn reaches out to touch his cheek. Recoils in shock and horror. His skin is cold, hard, almost… metallic. Then, to her utter disbelief, the eyelids open. The once brown eyes are a liquid black that includes the sclera and the blank look they hold is not remotely Sebacean. She gasps and it rings loud in the clearing.

He blinks once, mechanically, and turns his head towards her. Frowns slightly. "Aeryn?" It is harsh, ragged and… layered, somehow. She realises she has scooted away from him.

"B-Bialar?" she whispers. "Is… Is that really you?"

"I…" He pauses and runs a hand over his face. Freezes himself and then lifts his hand to stare at it. Horror washes over his face and Aeryn moves, grabs his hand. The chill of it bites into her skin, but she holds on as he clearly needs the reassurance. "What… happened?" he asks roughly.

Aeryn huffs out a breath of air. "I was hoping that you could tell me," she says wryly. "I did not… I didn't expect you… to survive."

His eyes close, and she tries not to be relieved, and he sighs. "Neither did I." There is a pause and then he adds, "Talyn is gone." A world of loss is in those three words and tears of sympathy burn Aeryn's eyes.

"I know," she manages. "We… we laid his remains to rest."

"Thank you." It is a sigh and he says nothing more.

Aeryn suspects he has lost consciousness; hardly surprising given his condition. What she doesn't know is what she should do now. He obviously needs medical help, but where can she take him? He is still a wanted man. Though, she thinks as she stares down, it is unlikely anyone would recognise him. She hardly does herself.

One thing is certain – she does not have the knowledge of how to treat him herself. She has to risk it, because the other choice is to let him die and she is not willing to do that. She wishes now that she left Moya under better circumstances, but even as that thought occurs to her she dismisses it – it is better that they do not know Crais has survived, better that they believe him to have died alongside Talyn. Crichton would be distrustful at best at his miraculous survival… if the state he is in could ever be described as that.

She rises to her feet and digs in the Prowler for her supplies. She has not got much, but what she does have she is willing to share. There is a flask of water and she rather suspects he will need most of that. Her eyes skit across his scorched skin and she shudders. Uncapping the flask, she takes a quick mouthful to help swallow the burn of bile. She reaches out, pulls back, debates if she can – should – touch him and then settles for shouting at him.

"Crais!"

Dry, cracked lips surrounded by the charred remains of his beard part and work soundlessly. The eyelids flutter and open. She flinches again as that black gaze falls on her.

"Aeryn," he whispers and sounds… different. Uncertain and afraid, younger somehow. "Where am I?"

"I… it's a planet, near where the Carrier… went down. It's safe – there's no one here other than us."

"Carrier… did it… did we?"

"Yes. There is little left of it."

"That is… something. I was scared that it would not… work. That it would… not be worth it but he said there was no choice. There was not… was there?" Liquid black eyes stare at her entreatingly. "No choice other than what we did?"

"No," she replies softly. "I don't think there was." Then something else occurs to her and she tilts her head quizzically. "_He _said? Who is he?"

He blinks once, expression incredulous. "Why Bialar of course."

It makes no sense, but there is only one possible explanation. Aeryn stares at the black skin, the radically altered eyes incredulously.

"_Talyn_?"


	2. Two

He doesn't know where he is. Or what – the form he now inhabits is unfamiliar. Aeryn sits at his side, eyes wide in an ashen face as she stares at him. He cannot process what has happened; his mind is too limited to work the parameters and algorithms.

"Aeryn," he says, pleads, needing to know.

She passes a shaking hand over her face. "Yotz," she mutters. "This can _not _be happening." She looks at him again. "Talyn?"

"Y-yes." Or he thinks he is, at least. "Something went… wrong."

"The transponder," she says then. "It has to have been… You and Crais have… melded, I think. I'm not really sure. But it is the only explanation I can think of." She touches him and he jerks; the feeling of skin against skin strange and unsettling. "Sorry. How…" Her eyes scan him. "You know where you are?"

He lifts a hand – the word is found within the mind that resides alongside his – and stares at it. "This is… not me," he says.

"No." Aeryn looks uncertain. "Where is… Bialar?"

"Here. As well. He is… sleeping. I don't think he is quite aware of me." He is out of his body and scared. He fights emotion but liquid seeps from his eyes. "I don't understand!"

"Shush," she soothes and eases an arm around him. He curls against her in terror and she strokes a hand over his head. "It'll be alright. I-I think. At least something of you has survived Talyn. I thought I had lost you."

"I'm scared Aeryn. This is not right!"

"Who is to say?" she asks. "I doubt very much that Bialar would tolerate this even subconsciously if he did not choose it. He is too stubborn" She chuckles softly. "Both of you are. This could be interesting."

This surprises him and he looks up. "I-interesting? That's a… novel way of putting it."

She smiles down at him. "I suppose. I'm guessing that you have control because he is asleep. Were you aware a moment ago?"

He thinks, trying to put his scattered thoughts into some semblance of order. "Sort of," he says slowly. "It was like… like receiving a distant comm. Imperceptively aware, I think."

"I see." She brushes her fingers over his face wonderingly. "I'm less inclined to think these are not burns, but a physical change. It's like your bodies came out… mixed. You feel colder and your skin is less pliable." A slightly sad smile touches her lips. "Of one mind and now of one body."

Talyn nods and catches her hand. Her skin is very pale next to his. He is incredibly aware of how soft it is, how easily he could damage her. This new form is safer than his last, but only marginally so.

"It does not bother me," he says quietly. "I just hope that it does not bother Bialar."

"Do you think that he might be aware of us now?" Aeryn asks.

He shrugs. "I don't know. His mind is not that familiar to me yet."

"Hm. Well that might mean I get to explain this to him." Her tone is wry and she sighs softly. "And somehow we need to decide what to do next. How badly injured are you? It's so hard to tell what is… a result of your merger and what is damage."

He thinks, feels through the body he has taken, the systems at once known and unfamiliar. "Minor injuries," he reports finally. "I think the cold of space limited our exposure to heat."

"I wonder if you can both be conscious simultaneously?" Aeryn muses then. "Obviously control of the body is going to be an issue though."

"It is his," Talyn answers. "I will yield when necessary."

"Could you communicate with him?"

"I do not know. Perhaps. I don't wish to right now though. It would be… well something of a shock."

"Just a little. You seem calm enough though."

He gives her a wan smile. "I expected to be dead Aeryn. Anything is better than that. And this form is not… unpleasant. Radically different, but…" He flexes a hand, feeling both the advantages and restrictions of the body. "Adaptable."

"I am very glad that something of you remains Talyn. I… I left Moya. There were too many memories. So I can help you now. Both of you."

"Thank you Aeryn." His eyes shift to the Prowler and he feels a shaft of loss. "You will have to fly me now."

She takes his hand and squeezes. "Yes."

"The price of freedom," Talyn notes and wonders if it is worth the cost. He is not sure yet; there are too many questions that need answers. He flexes his hands again, translates the amount of contraction into pressure.

Working it out requires a comparison of what he remembers to what Bialar knows. The knowledge is just there – most of the memories he has access to are not his own, but _his_. For two cycles his captain existed inside him, part and separate, joined by the transponder that is still attached to the neck. Now the roles are reversed he finally understands Bialar's restrictions and limitations; things he failed to when he was a Leviathan. There are several things he forced whilst in that form that he is ashamed of now.

"Can you stand?" Aeryn asks then, startling him out of his dark reverie.

"I… actually I am not sure."

She helps him to his feet. It feels incredible strange, the limbs of the body take a while to balance and there is the pull of gravity to take into consideration. He wriggles his toes within the constraint of the boots, feels the electric of nerves responding to the orders of the brain, synapses snapping. Co-ordinating this form is no harder than working his own, just different, and he finds the centre of balance and holds it.

Aeryn's face lights up. "Well done," she praises and he grins.

"Apparently I can," he chuckles. He focuses on his feet. Bialar is quite tall and before now Talyn has had no real concept of height. Or rather distance to the ground. He feels strange… dizzy. He feels Aeryn's hand tighten around his arm. "I'm okay. It's just different."

"Yes, I imagine so."

He laughs roughly. "You have _no _idea Aeryn," he says, though not unkindly.

"You ought to try it from this side," she returns. "Talking to you whilst you wear his face." She stares at him. "Well the new version of it. That is still strange."

"Yeah?" He glances at his hands. "Yeah, I guess it must be."

"The eyes are… very unsettling."

Talyn looks at her and she holds his gaze, but there is… what… repulsion in her face? He takes an uncertain step towards the Prowler. Walking involves a shift of balance, means maintaining a certain speed so that gravity is defied. He stumbles once and is caught by Aeryn. He shoots her a glance.

"Let me try."

She withdraws and he tries again. He is aware of her hovering worriedly, no doubt concerned he will do… the body injury, or that it is already damaged and he has missed something. He wants to reassure her, but he isn't sure he won't fall. But he still has to try.

One step becomes two and then a third. Walking, it seems, becomes easier the more one does it. He makes it to the Prowler, to the canopy that reflects his face, and stares into his own eyes. Unsettling is not the word he would use. Everything spins slowly and he feels himself crumple. Darkness closes in and he looses consciousness.


	3. Three

Aeryn jumps forward as Talyn – Crais – collapses. The eyes are closed, but the body shudders violently, rebelling against the unnatural juxtaposition of consciousnesses. She carefully arranges him so that he is lying on one side. His breathing is ragged, as if he has run a long distance, and sweat beads the dark forehead. But he still feels oddly cool to the touch.

She sits next to him, knees drawn up to her chest, and watches him struggle. There is nothing she can do to help, not that she knows of anyway, and it is hard to see him in such pain. It makes her tremble and her hand shakes as she lifts the flask to her lips again. The cool water does little to ease the lump in her throat.

Water…

Tearing a strip from his already ruined clothing, Aeryn tips the flask and soaks it, and then she leans over him to dab at the sweaty face. The cloth comes away sooty and, with a lack of anything else to do, she sets about cleaning him.

It is not long before she discovers that there is a layer of soot over his skin. Underneath it is still black, but there is a second colour – a ruddy shade. Aeryn's hand slows as the cloth reveals the extent of the… merging. They are of one body, one that is neither Sebacean nor Leviathan.

Hybrid.

She sits back on her heels, stunned. It clearly isn't simply a case of Talyn being in Crais' mind, but a full melding of two beings. They have survived, but it has taken a complete rewrite of their DNA. She lifts a hand and examines it. Faint lines run over the metallic surface, energy lines like Talyn had born in his previous form. Those lines had lit in Starburst but this body was surely not capable of that? In truth she has no idea.

But the thought that he might still have access to that power sobers her and she regards his face seriously. He could be dangerous. She snorts at herself; this is Bialar Crais – he was always dangerous. Nothing there has changed, just the form of danger he represents.

Aeryn knows that if Crichton were here he would tell her to leave because of that precise danger. That alone is enough to make her stay, never mind that she is probably the only person who can help Crais now. She was joined to Talyn and she knows him, knows Crais as well through that brief joining and though more normal experiences.

"_Is there anything you want to say to me?_"

"_I think we covered it all when you left me for dead in the Aurora Chair_."

The memory makes her lips twist in a grim smile. Normal? They have never done normal and she sees no reason why they should start now – this is as far from normal as it gets.

She wets the cloth again and wipes the sweat off his forehead. He stirs, sighs a moan, and the eyes open. She is still not used to that black gaze but she manages not to recoil this time.

"Bialar?" she asks uncertainly.

"Yeah." He puts a hand to his forehead and rubs at his temple.

Her fingers twist the cloth. "D-do you know what happened?"

He grunts softly. "What happened, yes. How…" He waves his hand vaguely.

"Well, no. I don't think anyone could know the answer to that." She gives him a small smile. "I do think that you have completely redefined _irreversible contamination_ though."

An eyebrow arches and he is clearly not amused. "Yes," he replies dryly and she coughs.

"Sorry."

He blinks slowly and then shoves himself into a sitting position. She watches him, the flex of muscle and sinew under the metallic skin. Biomechanoid, she thinks and frowns.

"What?" he asks.

"I... I was just thinking," she says. "Can you tell if… I mean, do you still need to eat? And what?"

He is staring at her. "I should have thought so," he returns. "Why ever not?"

"Because…" She pauses and looks away, bites at her bottom lip. "Because you aren't… Sebacean any more Bialar," she says quietly. "You are… something else."

"I had noticed."

She glares at him. "Stop that! I can do without sarcasm, thank you very much. How should I know? It's not like I've come across this before."

"No. I'm sorry." He pauses and sighs. "This is all… well it's new to me as well Aeryn."

"I know." She reaches out and takes his hand. "We'll work it out together hm?"

A faint smile touches his lips, but then his expression darkens. "What about Crichton? What about Moya and the others?"

"I've left them," she replies firmly. "And anyway, you need me more right now."

He purses his lips and looks away, but he does not argue and that surprises her. She glances down at their joined hands, how much more alien he appears when there is an immediate comparison. When she looks up she finds his eyes on her, the bleakness in his expression telling her that he knows what she has been thinking.

"It doesn't matter," she tells him.

"Don't lie to me Aeryn," he retorts. "It rather patiently does."

"I… I just need to adjust."

"You're not the only one."

"Exactly," she says and he jolts slightly at her tone. "Which is why I'm staying with you. Or the other way around." She glances at his ruined uniform. "I think you're going to need new clothing."

He opens his mouth, undoubtedly to argue, but then decides against it and gives a resigned sigh. "I am not going to talk you out of this, am I?"

She grins at him. "No."

"Thought as much."

Aeryn debates the situation and then looks up, holds the void that is his gaze. "Your… strategy led you to this. You cannot go back and I do not want to. I have made my move." She smiles softly, sadly. "It's time you planned yours."

The black eyes widen as she paraphrases words he once spoke to her. Then his jaw clenches and several emotions pass over his face, too quickly for her to follow, but she recognises the look that settles there.

"I planned to die," he notes. "As such, I have nothing."

"You have your life," she retorts sharply, then softens her tone. "A new start. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

He snorts. "Not exactly like this."

"You came to us," she chuckles. "Obviously bad planning is contagious."

"Obviously," he agrees, but there is a touch of humour to his tone now and the bleak expression has lightened. "So what do you suggest?"

"Well… how do you actually feel? I would have thought what you've been through would be rather traumatic. Are you in need of medical aid?"

He looks at her steadily. "Do you honestly think there's a single diagnosian out there that has any experience with this?" he asks and holds up one black hand. She sighs.

"You may have a point there," she allows.


	4. Four

Bialar has never been without a plan or, at the very least, some idea of what he is doing. His current situation however defies planning and he has no idea what he is, never mind what he is doing. He watches Aeryn sort out her supplies and tries to ignore how foreign his own body feels.

Whilst her attention is on what she is doing, he pretends nothing strange has happened except that he has survived the impossible. He can ignore the fact the blackness of his hands is skin and not leather. But only when she is busy. When she looks at him, all pretence fails – her eyes hold a combination of horror and sympathy.

But she has at least stopped recoiling in repulsion.

He trails his altered fingers through the dirt. Sensitivity of touch has not been affected by whatever his skin has become, but it is no longer simply a case of feeling – his mind can detect the various elements, the minerals and particles, the very structure of the dirt unravelling in his head. From that he can extrapolate the likelihood of finding water, how fertile the ground is, what plants it can support. The result of so much information is the beginnings of a headache and he lets the dust filter out between his fingers.

Static prickles over his skin and he looks up to find Aeryn watching him, a quizzical expression on her face.

"I can feel it," he tells her. She smiles slightly.

"You're still Sebacean enough for that, then?"

He shakes his head. "No, you don't understand – I can _feel _it, Aeryn. Every grain, its make up, I…"

"Like a sensor?" She walks over and squats in front of him, takes his hand. A volley of senses hits him and he gasps.

"Yes," he croaks. "Would you… let go please?"

She drops his hand as if it's gotten hot and sits hard on her rear. "What did you sense?"

"What didn't I?" he retorts. "You hate this, don't you?"

She opens her mouth, then closes it again, drops her head. "It's hard, Bialar," she says quietly. "Not just my training, the idea of irreversible contamination, but just seeing you… wondering how much you suffered, are suffering still. How little I can do to help." Her eyes tear. "The fact I cannot even touch you without it hurting you."

"It does not… hurt, Aeryn. It's just… so much to process." He smiles slightly. "Rather like receiving the transponder all over again."

Aeryn rubs at her eyes, the motion impatient as if she is annoyed by her emotional outburst. He watches her slip back into Peacekeeper mode and sighs inwardly – it would be better for them both if she did not do that.

"It's about control," she says then and he briefly wonders if she read his mind before he realises she is talking about him and not herself. She gives him a sour grin. "You're good at that, so this should be fairly easy."

He ignores the slight. "What should?"

"Well it is like the interface. I remember how at first every system was so overwhelming, but slowly my mind could push it away until I could focus on one thing at a time. This is just like the transponder, only Talyn is in your mind now. It should be possible for you to filter out what responses you don't need at any given moment. Like how being aware of breathing is not necessary in order to do it."

He blinks and feels slightly stupid. "I should have thought of that," he tells her ruefully. She shrugs.

"Too much information," she says. "You probably can't think straight."

It is true – the inside of his head is so much chaos – but he closes his eyes and concentrates on his breathing. In and out. In and out. And the cacophony of noise recedes. He is still aware of everything, but it no longer dominates. He smiles and opens his eyes again.

"Thank you," he says to her sincerely.

"No problem." Then she holds out a hand.

He regards it warily, aware of what he had felt and that she'd kill him if she really knew, but then reaches out. Her skin is warmer, more pliable than his own. He can feel the nervous sweat on her palm, the way her fingers tremble slightly, the pulse of her blood. But those things are purely physical. This time there is no onslaught of emotion, no flurry of confused thoughts as occurred the last. He nods.

"It works."

Aeryn grins. "Seems I'm useful for something after all."

"I would say so."

She seems a little taken aback by this, but then smiles again. "So if you can sense everything like that, then you must know if you're injured or not?"

"Strangely, I seem to be fine," he says and then shrugs. "The pain is easing."

"Talyn said that is it probably because you were in deep space, that the coldness prevented too much damage."

"He is probably right." He snorts softly. "He knows more about such things."

"Can you not access his consciousness?"

In all honesty, he has not tried as there is enough to adjust to, not least the fact he is no longer Sebacean. But now Aeryn has asked, he reaches inside himself, the process similar enough to using the transponder than he does not feel uncomfortable.

"Bialar?"

He doesn't hear it so much as be aware of it. The sensation of Talyn's mind stirring within his own is extremely odd.

"Talyn. I did not think I could reach you."

"Neither did I. But it seems we can inter-communicate after all."

His lips twitch. "Inter-communicate?"

There is a mental shrug.

"Can you think of a better term?"

"No." He can't and the phrase does not truly matter if he knows what Talyn means. With him inside his head, his thoughts overlying his own, there is no room for misunderstanding. "How are you faring?"

"It is very strange."

"Indeed."

"But… I am adjusting. And this is better than the alternative."

Bialar cannot argue with that. "Yes." He opens his eyes and looks at Aeryn. "It would seem that I can," he tells her.

"Right. Well you two need to decide what we do now. Do we bother trying to find a diagnosian? What do you want do? And where do you want to go?"

He chuckles at the stream of questions and holds up a belying hand. "One thing at a time, Aeryn." He debates the first question. "There is nothing that needs doing medically. I am… not adverse to what has happened. Certainly not enough that I wish to loose Talyn, if indeed we could be separated now. I suspect not. What I would like to know is what this body is capable of, what strain supporting two minds the mind can take. Whether we can find someone with the answers to those queries is another matter though."

"Well we're not going to find anyone by sitting around on our eemas," she notes and scrambles to her feet, holds out a hand. "Come on, Crais. You wanted a new path. Let's go take it."

He chuckles again, takes her hand and allows her to pull him up. He isn't sure – about anything really – but neither is he willing to sit and let this second chance pass him by. He is alive. For now, that is more than enough.


	5. Five

It feels good to be at the Prowler's controls again. This is what she what she knows, where is she confident. It is familiar, unlike the Sebacean-Leviathan hybrid that sits behind her.

Crais is silent as she flies and she wonders what he is thinking, if he is in communication with Talyn, if he regrets his decision. For herself, she is recovering from the shock more readily than she thought possible, is adapting to his strange appearance. Though it probably helps that his personality has not changed – he is still very much Bialar Crais.

She manoeuvres the Prowler on a vector, heading towards a nearby commerce planet. Though he has survived a contained Starburst his clothing has not. But going planet-side is going to bring its own dangers – he is not recognisably Crais, not recognisably anything – and new things attract attention. Fear. Trouble.

"I think you should stay with the Prowler," she tells him.

"Why?" His tone is stiff. She tenses.

"Because you are going to attract unwanted attention. The planet is mostly Sebacean and you… well you aren't now."

"I thought we were going to replace my clothing?" he says then.

"I am."

"And you know what will fit me?"

Aeryn sighs. "No but–"

"Then I need to come too."

"But–"

"We need not use the more populated paths," he suggests. "If we avoid the crowds, then we'll attract less attention, no?"

"I suppose," she says, though she still does not like it. "Just… try not to draw attention."

He snorts but says nothing. He doesn't need to – she knows how unlikely that will be. But the planet is ahead of them now and there is no time to talk him out of his decision. If that was ever going to be possible. _Stubborn drannit_, she thinks with a grimace.

She lands the Prowler at the spaceport. There are only a few people about, so she clambers down and then stands, rifle at the ready, as Bialar follows suit. He looks so different that she is immediately concerned again. He catches her expression and folds his arms.

"You're going to have to get used to being around me sooner or later," he says sourly. "Or you can get back in the Prowler and leave me to it. Make your decision."

She wants to tell him that is not fair, but her words dry at the black stare – she has no right to claim unfairness here. "I'm staying with you," she says quietly and holds his gaze unflinchingly. "I'm just worried for you."

His eyes narrow and he frowns. Then he looks away. "I don't need your pity."

Aeryn feels a sudden urge to slap him and fists her hands to contain it. "It's not about pity, Crais," she snaps. "It's about wanting to keep you alive. I've mourned you once and–" She stops, paling at her words – she had not intended to tell him that.

The look he gives her is oddly vulnerable.

"You mourned me?" he asks softly. "Not just Talyn?"

"It was brave," she starts and then stops again. She owes him more than pithy statements. "No, not just Talyn."

"Why?" It is incredulous, disbelieving. And it hurts.

"Because!" Aeryn closes the gap, stares into those impossible eyes. She touches him then, cups his face as she did just before she left him – to die, the thought sparks in her mind – that last time. "Because I cared about you," she tells him. "And I am staying because I still do."

He blinks. "After everything?"

She smiles. "After everything."

"Oh."

It is rare to see Bialar Crais lost for words, so Aeryn stores the current expression in her mind, grins at him and then pats his cheek. It does not feel the same as it once did, but the difference is mattering less and less.

"Come on then," she says. "Let's go cause a stir."

Actually they manage to cause very little. By going the quieter routes, they avoid most people, though Bialar does garner a few wide-eyed stares. If he notices, he does not comment on it. They find a tailor shop and go inside.

The proprietor is startled by Crais' appearance but reassured by the rifle in Aeryn's hands. He measures Crais and dares a few questions about style and colour. Bialar looks at her. She shrugs and tilts her head, considers her appearance.

"There's not much point trying to hide it," she notes. "So you might as well go with it. Black and dark red." She glances round and settles on a bolt of deep mahogany. "That one."

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Good choice," the proprietor says. "The lady is right – that shade would become you very well."

"Right."

Aeryn stifles a chuckle at the lost expression on Bialar's face. "It'll be fine," she assures him. He glances at her, his face rather doubtful. "But just to make things fair, perhaps I should choose something too. What do you think?"

It is, she realises when the words are out, something of an invitation. His eyes widen slightly and she knows he is thinking something she'd rather he didn't but decides not to dig herself in further and just frowns at him.

"There is a nice blue," the proprietor announces and holds up a piece. It is a watery blue-green silk.

"No," they say as one and Aeryn notices Bialar shudder, avert his gaze. She knows why. The silk is a close match to that of the dress she wore on Valldon. Clearly neither of them wants a reminder of that.

"The grey," Bialar says then. She arches an eyebrow at him and then glances to where he is looking. It is a dark grey and, she thinks, rather plain but then the proprietor drapes it over his arm and it shimmers like a pearl.

"It'll do," she replies in what she hopes is a non-committal tone of voice. In actual fact she is trying to figure out how he has such an eye for colour. She is aware of him watching as the proprietor takes her measurements and then writes everything down.

"Be ready by tonight," he announces.

"We were not planning on staying," Bialar says.

"No? Well… there is a hotel on the corner. Good rates."

"Alright." Aeryn keeps her tone brisk and decisive. He is staring at her but she ignores him. "Please deliver them there. The name is Aeryn." She hands over half the credits. "The rest on receipt," she tells the man.

"Yes, yes. Very good."

She grabs Bialar's arm and hauls him away before he can say anything. The hotel is obvious since it towers over the other buildings, and she drags him towards it.

"Isn't staying going to attract more attention?" he asks.

"Perhaps, but I don't care. Look at you! That uniform is falling to bits."

He stops and glances down. "I suppose."

"I don't care how far down that colouring goes – you still need clothing whilst you're flying in my Prowler."

Bialar looks up, his mouth open. He blinks several times in rapid succession. And then he laughs.

Aeryn stares at him. She has never heard him laugh before and she finds she rather likes the way it sounds. The humour of the situation hits her then and she smiles ruefully. She grabs his arm again.

"Come on. I'm hungry and thirsty and hoping they have raslak."

"They better had raslak," he notes. "I really need a drink."


	6. Six

The bar, much to Bialar's relief, does in fact have raslak. The woman behind the counter stares at him, startled so much by his appearance that she spills the alcohol. She swears and hands him the glasses before attempting to mop up the mess. He smirks at the top of her head and crosses the room to sit at the table Aeryn has commandeered.

"You're going to have to get used to that reaction," she notes as he gives her a glass.

"Yes I suppose so." He sits down and takes a large mouthful of his drink, feeling the warmth of the alcohol course down his throat. Whatever changes have occurred to his body, he is pleased to note that the raslak still has an effect.

"She's still looking," Aeryn says and then smirks. "Maybe you have an admirer?"

He pulls a face. "Not my type."

"What type is that? Unattached?"

He gives her a steady look. "That is not funny."

"Sorry." She swirls the liquid in her cup. "I'm not going back, you know."

Bialar doesn't know what to make of that statement. "I… didn't say that you would," he says slowly. She stares into her glass, her face pale. He suddenly realises where this is going. "Your offer to remain with me needs no further… commitment, Aeryn. If you changed your mind tomorrow, I would not hold that against you."

She glances up then. "I… thank you."

"Is there anything else we need to cover?"

She smiles slightly. "No. I think we're good."

"Very well." He lifts the glass and then pauses. "One other thing?"

"What's that?"

"Just come out and say it next time hm? Fortunately I gathered what you were hinting at, but I think things would be better if we are honest with each other Aeryn."

Her cheeks colour slightly and she jerks a brief nod. "Alright."

"Right." He finishes his drink. "You want another?"

"Yes," she says adamantly.

He grins and sweeps up her glass. "I'll be right back, right after I've charmed the bartender."

Her laughter follows him across the room.

They are rather drunk by the time they give up on waiting for the tailor and make arrangements for a room. They stumble up the stairs. Aeryn missteps at the top and sprawls on the landing. Bialar tries to help her up but is hindered by the fact he is laughing at her.

"Shut up," she tells him, which makes him laugh more. He grabs her hand and hauls her to her unsteady feet.

"There you go," he says. She huffs at him but does not pull away when he takes her hand in his. He peers at the peeling painted number on the nearest door, and points down the passageway. "It's that way."

"If you say so."

He leads her to the right door and, after several fumbled attempts, manages to get the key into the lock. It clicks loudly as he twists it and he opens the door. He bows extravagantly to Aeryn.

"After you, Officer Sun." She chuckles at this display of manners and sweeps in regally. He grins at her and follows her, closing the door behind them.

The room is small and the curtains that hang at the window are faded, but everything is clean. He decides that it will suffice for the moment. Aeryn flops onto the bed and he smiles at that as he heads to the window. He opens it and allows the cool air to enter the room. Then he turns and looks at her.

"How much longer, do you suppose?"

"No idea," she mumbles sleepily. "But I think… I think I am going to go to sleep."

"Too much raslak," he notes with a chuckle.

"Hm." She shifts onto one side and bunches the pillow under her head. "Are you…?"

"I feel fine." He does, oddly. Oh his head buzzes somewhat, but it is vague and he doesn't feel any unpleasant effect. "You sleep. I'll… wait."

She doesn't answer and he realises she's already gone. He rolls his eyes and then crosses to the bed. Stares down at her for several microts, a soft smile on his face. He is more grateful for her remaining with him that he can put into words. Taking one of the blankets from the end of the bed, he carefully covers her over and then strokes the dark hair.

"_She won't be happy if she catches you doing that."_ Talyn's sudden observation makes him jump.

He expels a hard breath. _"She won't catch me,"_ he replies. _"She's deeply asleep."_

"_Is that a valid excuse?"_

"_I am merely looking after her. I have no ulterior motive in mind."_

Talyn snorts. _"I'm_ in _your mind, Bialar,"_ he reminds him. _"I know that is a lie."_

Bialar says nothing for a moment, just looks at Aeryn. "It doesn't matter," he murmurs aloud finally. "She is never going to see me now."

"_Us,"_ Talyn corrects and Bialar shrugs a shoulder.

"_The point remains that I am no longer Sebacean. I am… I have no idea."_

"_Unique."_

"_Different."_

"_Isn't that the same thing?"_

"_Not… exactly."_

Talyn sighs. _"It is a matter of opinion. What do you see it as?"_

"_I was not thinking of me,"_ he admits, his eyes sliding down to Aeryn's slumbering form again. _"Were you aware of the stares we got just coming here? People see something different, something strange."_ He pauses. _"Something to fear."_

"_Aeryn does not fear us."_

"_No. But neither does she…" _He lets his words trail off. Talyn is more than aware of his feelings for Aeryn Sun. _"It might not even matter."_

Talyn sniggers. _"I'm pretty sure we are… fully functional, Bialar."_

He does not answer that but hauls his mental barriers up instead, pushing the second consciousness away from his awareness as he moves from the bed. He is not ready to examine that part of himself right now.

Despite the alcohol, he feels no tiredness. It is possible this form needs little rest but he knows he could not sleep now even if he wanted to. There is a chair in the corner of the room and he throws himself into this and stares bleakly out at the darkening sky.


	7. Seven

It is fully dark when Aeryn wakes up. At first she is not sure what has awakened her, but then she hears the banging at the door. She hauls herself out of bed, noting vaguely that she has been covered over at some point, and stumbles across to the door.

She finds the tailor on the other side and has to root for the credits she owes him. Grabbing the packages, she presses the money into his hand and then kicks the door shut. She turns and scans the room. There is a hulking shadow in the corner that she assumes is Bialar. She elbows the light switch and blinks against the sudden light.

"Ow."

The shape is indeed Bialar. He has his legs curled underneath him and has not reacted to the light whatsoever. Her heart sinks at the look on his face.

"Bialar?" He does not move, not even to blink. Aeryn drops the packages onto the bed and goes to the chair. Puts one hand on his shoulder. "Bialar?"

"You should go," he says in a toneless voice.

"Ah frell," she mutters and wonders what has brought this on. "Hey, don't you do this to me now." There's still no reaction so she tightens her grip. "Crais!"

"Even a copy is better than nothing. It is considerably better than… being something else."

Aeryn breathes out slowly in an attempt to keep calm. "Being something else is better than being dead," she asserts. "So stop it. I have made my choice and your having a snit is not going to change it."

Finally he reacts, blinks, and she finds herself relieved at that almost normal animation. She watches his head shake slightly and smiles, slides her hand from his shoulder and down his arm. He shudders beneath her palm.

"Ah," she says softly, and curses her earlier teasing. Even though he is radically altered, he is still male. She leans in and kisses his cheek gently. "Just because you're different that doesn't mean you are repulsive."

He snorts at that and turns to face her. "Really?" he says harshly.

"Really." She stands. "The tailor came by finally. I'm going to try mine on." With that she leaves him and grabs a package. She opens it to find a pair of trousers in black silk. "Well they're yours," she notes and drops them on the bed. She tries a second and this time finds the dress. She throws him a quick smile and then ducks into the attached bathroom.

She did not think she would wear a dress again after Valldon, but this… this suits her. This dress, with its colour chosen by Bialar. She smiles slightly, half intrigued by his ability to have picked it out, half wondering if she really wants to know how – she has been witness to his fantasies before.

Still… she likes this, likes the way it looks on her. The silk swirls around her ankles, clings to her hips. She reaches up and undoes the plait, shakes her hair loose. The end result is… different. Not quite as different as he is, but still different. She chuckles and heads out, eager to show her _alteration _off.

And stops dead.

He is stood at the foot of the bed, the new trousers in his hands, caught in the middle of changing. Aeryn blinks and swallows. He wears nothing but regulation underwear, but it is not the level of nakedness that stops her. It's the colour of his skin.

She has gotten used to his face – more or less – but the variations of black and red are not limited to there. They spread over his entire body, cover his chest, and travel down his arms and legs. The liquid night of his eyes regards her sourly.

"I thought you would take longer," he says quietly. "I didn't want you to see me like… this." He makes no move to cover himself but looks away, his discomfort apparent. It galvanises her into action and she crosses the room, though her steps slow as she gets closer.

His shoulder is hard and cold under her hand, and she can feel the ridging of the lines that run over his body. She follows the trail down his arm. The muscles beneath the skin are corded and tense.

"Why not?" she asks gently.

He breathes out slowly and then looks at her. "Do not pretend you have not noticed."

"I was… surprised, yotz only knows why, but it's not…" She pauses and moves in front of him, cups his cheek. "Bialar you are not repulsive. Just different."

"Irreversibly contaminated," he says. She refuses to be dissuaded and holds his gaze.

"That was the beginning of my life," she reminds him. "This is not the end of yours."

Bialar sighs and moves away from her hand. She watches him sit on the bed and haul on his trousers. She is not sure she has managed to get through to him, isn't sure what else she can say. He continues to dress and ignore her. Aeryn sighs and goes to the window.

"Aeryn," he says then.

She focuses on his reflection in the glass. "Yes?"

"I… I have not adjusted."

She turns. "Bialar I would be very surprised if you had." She crosses the room and sits next to him. "You need to be less hard on yourself. It is a lot to adjust to. Give yourself some time." He shakes his head so she nudges him. "Yes?"

"I'm not so–"

"Yes, Bialar," she says tartly. "The correct answer is yes."

He makes an odd sound somewhere between a derisive snort and a wry laugh, reaches behind him and grabs the top. She watches him pull it on. The dark colours harmonise with his skin, soften the hard lines of his new form. The result is not unattractive. She smiles slightly, which is the precise moment he looks at her.

"Yes."

"Anyway, it's not _that _bad," she adds blithely.

"Thank you," he says dryly. "Such a vote of confidence."

"Do you believe me?"

He snorts. "Not particularly."

Aeryn frowns. She would argue her point but suspects it's pointless. And she has a better idea. Capturing his face between her hands, she leans in and kisses him full on the mouth.

His lips are cool and dry, but softer than she expected. The beard tickles her chin and she can smell the lingering scent of soot. He tastes of raslak and bitterness and she aches for him, closes her eyes against his pain. After a long moment, he responds – one hand settles on her hip, his thumb circling over the bone. She slides her arms around his neck, deepens the kiss.

They break apart after several moments, both oddly breathless. The ruddy colourisation on Bialar's face is more pronounced and Aeryn chuckles at the blush, traces it with her fingers. She no longer finds the lines repulsive, just a part of what he is now. Not contaminated but rather darkly exotic. _Attractively _different.

Her voice is husky as she asks, "I trust I made my point?"


	8. Eight

For the briefest microt, Bialar has managed to forget what has happened to him, but Aeryn's words abruptly remind him. The tentative fantasy shatters and he shudders, pulls away from her and scrambles off the bed, walks to the window.

"What point?" he asks bitterly. He feels cold, more alone than he has ever done.

"What, other than you being impossibly stubborn?" she replies in a sour tone. "The only person that has a problem with how you appear is you, Bialar – Talyn seems far better adjusted."

"And you?" he pushes. "I had noticed how you can barely look at me."

"I'm looking at you now, aren't I? And I _kissed _you, for frell's sake."

"Only after you closed your eyes."

Aeryn groans. "I'm going to have to smack sense into you, aren't I?" she asks in a resigned tone.

"You don't understand!"

"Actually, I do."

"Really?" he snorts derisively. She doesn't answer immediately and he turns, ready to throw a further barbed comment at her. The sight of her sat on the edge of the bed, her hands gripping the mattress tightly, stops him. "Aeryn?"

"It was a long time ago." She says it to the floor, her hair falling like a curtain over her face. Her knuckles are white and he knows she is controlling herself harshly. "Mere weekens after… after I left the Peacekeepers. The others had heard of a scientist who could provide starmaps of their homeworlds. It was fairly simple – we gave him some DNA and he… he was supposed to give us the map." She heaves a deep sigh. "I wanted to find somewhere I could… be accepted, I suppose, but what happened… He injected me with some of Pilot's DNA and I… I began to change."

There is a pause and she looks up, her face a mask. But her eyes are haunted, pained, and he wants to go to her. Something keeps him by the window.

"Into what?" he asks.

She winces but holds his gaze. "Into a hybrid of our two species," she murmurs. "Not Sebacean, but not quite a Pilot either."

He stares at her. "Well you clearly… recovered."

"John…" Her voice hiccups and he sees her struggle with sudden grief. "He and one of the scientist's assistants created a serum that… stopped the process but… Before that I could… sense Moya as Pilot could." She blinks rapidly. "Whatever process has changed you is balanced, Bialar. It isn't stripping your mind from you. I felt myself fading, becoming less and less and…" Her voice drops to a whisper. "It terrified me."

"I can imagine."

She manages a weak smile. "So you see – I do understand what you are going through."

Bialar considers her story in light of what has happened to him. "Yes, I suppose. What… what was it like? For you?"

"Difficult," she replies. "I could sense Moya like… well very like it was with Talyn. But as the change developed, I began to loose sense of myself. What was done to me… I would have turned into a Pilot, I think, eventually. In that respect, it was very different."

"Hm. So far I seem to be retaining my sense of self."

She looks at him for a moment. "I don't think the change will advance further. You have merged with Talyn as far as it is possible."

He shrugs. "I have no idea." He sighs. "Nor did I have one that you had suffered so."

"Well I hardly advertise it," she retorts and passes a hand over her face. He is fairly sure the motion is wiping tears she doesn't want him to see so he pretends he doesn't see it, stares out at the night again.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"What? Why?"

"Because it was effectively my fault, wasn't it? You were out there because of what I'd done. I'd cut you off from everything that you'd known and you… you were so lost you'd take such a chance just to find a place to be." He closes his eyes. "I never meant to hurt you Aeryn. Even declaring you Irreversibly Contaminated was more aimed at Crichton than you."

"Do you think that I don't know that?" Her tone is slightly incredulous and he looks at her again. "I'm not stupid, Bialar."

"I never said that you were, but–"

"But nothing! Why can't you just drop that? I told you that I forgive you." She sighs. "Fine. Here and now, Bialar – let's have it all out. It'll probably take the rest of the night, but at least it should stop you from rehashing everything at the slightest provocation!"

Bialar stares at her for a stunned microt, and then laughs. Her irritation expression goes rueful and she shakes her head.

"Idiot," she says, though her tone has an almost fond quality to it.

"Alright," he says then. "_Now _you've made your point."

She snorts. "I'm so glad," she says dryly.

He goes back to the bed and sits next to her. There is not even a flicker of a flinch when he puts a hand on her shoulder, so adjusting is she to him now. He rather envies her that.

"Aeryn, I… I know that I have never been… an easy person to be around. I am not… trying to aggravate you." He squeezes her shoulder lightly, aware of exactly the amount of pressure in his fingers. "And it does help to know that you… are not just offering an empty sympathy."

"Good," she says emphatically. She leans against him and makes a bad attempt to smother a yawn. "I'm so glad I don't have to stay up all night trying to knock sense into your thick head."

"Nice."

"Hm." She yawns again and shoves herself upright. "Well I don't know what you're going to do, but I am going to get some frelling sleep."

He doesn't feel particularly tired, but wouldn't care to share the bed even if he did. "I'm alright," he tells her. "You have the bed, I'll take the chair."

"Damn right you will."

He chuckles as she scrambled under the covers, still wearing the dress. He stands and goes to the chair, flops down and closes his eyes. He is not tired but his eyes ache. He can hear Aeryn as she makes herself comfortable and tries to ignore his awareness of the basic fact she is in bed a mere metra away from him.

Her breathing slows as she falls asleep. After a microt, he gets up from the chair and crosses the room, clicks off the switch. A sudden darkness descends, blinding him. He opens his mind to the consciousness inside and his senses sharpen. Sight and sound and taste, but more than that – he can actually sense physical objects and so avoids walking into the bed as he goes to his chair.

_"See it's not so bad after all," _Talyn notes.

_"I suppose not."_

"Would you rather the alternative?"

Bialar thinks about it, but in all truth knows the answer to that question. _"No."_

"Neither would I. And Aeryn is right – it's going to be difficult for us to start over if you keep dragging the past up."

"I know. I just couldn't see how she could… accept me so easily."

"Because she's Aeryn," Talyn tells him calmly and he cannot argue with that.


	9. Nine

Sunlight streaming through the window wakens Aeryn. She stretches and sits up, pushing her hair out of her face. Her gaze falls on the chair, in which Bialar is sleeping. She experiences the slightest jolt at seeing his altered features but nothing of the horror that she felt on first seeing him. She loops her arms around her legs and watches the light play over the metallic skin. It catches the lines engrained into the surface and makes them more obvious. It is no longer disturbing, but then Talyn was always beautiful in her opinion.

Dark eyelashes sweep upwards, revealing the blackness of the eyes behind. At that, she does jump a little, mostly because it is very disconcerting. It is utterly impossible to read any emotion in those eyes and it is the only thing she really wishes was different.

She also has no idea which consciousness is in control of that unblinking stare.

"Morning," she says and slips off the bed to stretch kinks out further.

"Heya."

Talyn. Aeryn smiles. "How are you today?"

"Good." He unwinds the long legs of the body and links his fingers behind his head. "Better than he would be. He did wake up but decided that his head was hurting too much – he hasn't figured out that his system can filter out alcohol yet." A smirk crosses his lips. "Not entirely sure I'm going to tell him, either."

Aeryn laughs. "Talyn, that's evil!"

"Did he ask me before drinking so much? No. Therefore it's perfectly fair."

"Well… perhaps," she allows. "But just this once. What else are you keeping from him?"

Talyn stands, wavers slightly and grabs the back of the chair. "Why does he have to be so frelling tall?" he complains and then looks up. "Nothing. Well, nothing that I know of. New body, new things to discover. It's quite interesting really." He frowns then. "Though some of them aren't so much."

With that he beats a hasty retreat to the bathroom and Aeryn tries not to laugh. She doesn't actually manage it very well.

He re-emerges after a few microts and frowns at her chuckling.

"Better?" she asks solicitously.

"Yeah." He saunters past her and flings himself onto the bed. The motion is childish and marks how different Talyn's character is. She knows that Bialar would be mortified at such behaviour, which is enough to make her smile broadly. "So what are we going to do then?" he asks.

Aeryn sits on the bed. "I'm not really sure," she admits. "When I left Moya, I had no real plan, though I had heard of a group of ex-Peacekeepers…"

Talyn lets out a groan. "Not if you ever loved me," he says and she jolts at that, stares at him only to find a guarded pain on his face. "I could not go back to that. Not even the semblance of that."

She is shocked by his vehemence and grabs his hand. "Alright," she says softly. "Alright, Talyn."

"Please do not mention that to him."

"I won't, I promise." She cannot say anything else in response to that awful reaction, doesn't need to ask why. He nods, the black eyes shining with tears, and that makes her tighten her grip. "It's alright, Talyn," she says and cups his cheek gently. "I won't let anything hurt you again. I promise you that. Both of you."

He blinks several times and then clears his throat. She strokes his face as he gets his turbulent emotions under control. She wants to tell him that it doesn't matter that he's upset, that he has every right to be so, but she is also aware of the other consciousness that shares that this head and so does not.

"So what do we do?" he asks finally, obviously wanting to move the conversation on.

Aeryn respects him – and Bialar – too much to dwell if he does not wish it. "I don't know," she says. "Perhaps we can find something. You and I, together."

Talyn shudders and looks away. "Yes," he says, and a strange tension in his tone.

"It'll be okay Talyn," she tells him. "It will be."

"Yes." It is faint and he closes his eyes.

"Talyn?" There is no response and Aeryn strokes his face again. "Talyn?"

"He is afraid." The voice is deeper, rougher.

"Of what?"

"You said… what you said… was what I told him before we Starburst."

Aeryn opens her mouth, and then closes it again. There is nothing she can say to that, and she doesn't really want to think about that moment. His fingers tighten around hers and she braces herself for what she knows is coming.

"I don't remember anything," Bialar says. "Beyond a moment of… great pain. My last conscious thought was of… you and what I hoped to achieve – the destruction of the wormhole weapon, your safety." A small smile crawls over his lips. "Revenge on Scorpius, if I am honest. Talyn… Talyn might remember more."

"He… I promised not to say… but I told him what I planned and he… he was terrified."

"What was it that you planned?"

"I can't," she says. "I promised him that I wouldn't tell you."

"Am I that bad?"

"No, but what you went through was." Aeryn runs a thumb over his knuckles. "But the question remains as to what we do."

Bialar takes a deep breath and shoves himself into a sitting position. "Not whatever it is that you won't tell me," he quips wryly. He rubs his face. Did you have another idea by any chance?"

"Not really, no."

He looks thoughtful. "We could do with a ship," he says then. "We need a little more space than your Prowler allows."

"Well I haven't the credits for that. What do you suggest we do, steal one?"

"Hardly."

"Then what?"

"I didn't say I knew," he replied tartly. "Just made the point."

"That's really helpful, Bialar."

"I did have another idea."

Aeryn looks at him, feeling a hope that he might have an answer after all. "Oh?"

"We discuss this over breakfast," he announces with a sudden grin. "I don't know about you, but I am hungry."

She stares at him for all of thirty microts and then sighs loudly.


	10. Ten

The same bartender who served them drinks the night before brought bowls over. Aeryn thanks her quietly and pays. Bialar sees the several looks the girl throws him and fights the temptation to frighten her off. He watches her skitter away and shakes his head.

"Did she think it'd disappear overnight?" he asks sourly.

"Perhaps she hasn't adjusted," Aeryn returns evenly.

Bialar harrumphs but eats his breakfast. Halfway through he sees two men enter and the bartender whispering to them.

"Aeryn," he says softly. "I think we have trouble."

Her glance towards the bar is the epitome of casualness. "Hm, possibly."

"More than a question of maladjustment, I think."

"Finish your food," Aeryn tells him. "After all, I did pay for it."

He glances at her. She seems to be ignoring the trouble brewing across the room as unimportant. He eats the rest of his breakfast but does not really taste it. Unlike Aeryn, he cannot turn off so easily and finds himself becoming tense. So he stretches out and he can hear them talking, hears what they are planning, and pushes his bowl away.

"We need to go now," he tells Aeryn.

She glances at him, ready to retort, but then her eyes go wide and she nods. "There's a back door," she says and unclips the retainer on her holster. "Go. I have you covered."

Bialar shakes his head. "We go together." He stands, noting how the two men go for their pistols. "Aeryn!"

She pulls hers out as she gets up, the motion a blur even to his heightened sight. It seems the men want them alive for some reason, because they hold their fire. Bialar has one arm around Aeryn's waist as he backs them towards the door.

One of the men steps forward. "We don't want any trouble!"

"That's strange," Bialar retorts. "Neither did we. We've paid up. Let us go."

"We only want you, freak. Not bothered about your girlfriend. So if you come here, she can go."

"Don't you even think about it," Aeryn mutters.

"I really wasn't," he murmurs in reply. "Bottle on the bar, Aeryn. We need a distraction."

"I'd never have thought of that," she remarks in a sarcastic tone, but her aim shifts and the bottle explodes in a shower of glass.

There is a high-pitched scream from the bartender and a yell from the man that was stood by the bar as Bialar shoves Aeryn towards the door. The other man fires, but he was either making a warning shot or else can't aim, because it pings harmless off the wall.

Bialar stumbles slightly and the man aims at Aeryn. Bad shot or not, he is not willing to take the risk and dives forward. Staggers as something hits him on the back, just beneath his right shoulder as he blocks Aeryn. Hears her gasp and feels her grab his arm. Sees her pale, horrified face. Smells the scorched silk. But there is no pain, no loss of movement. He spins on his heel.

The man takes a step back, eyes wild. The bartender screams again.

Fury is a white light that bubbles up from deep with Bialar, floods his vision. He holds up a staying hand and it rips out from the palm, slams into the man and sends him flying.

He is dead before he hits the ground.

Bialar is stunned, isn't entirely sure what just happened. He stares in disbelief at the hole on the man's chest. A hand closes around his arm and Aeryn drags him away. No one moves to stop them as she pushes him outside.

He feels sick. His knees give and he drops, shaking violently, suddenly terribly weak.

"Yotz," Aeryn is saying. "Frelling yotz."

His palm looks as it did before, as it has since he first came round, but he can feel the odd tingle of power as it drains away. "What… happened?" he asks numbly. "What did I do?"

Aeryn Grabs his arm and pulls him to his feet. "Move, Bialar. We have to get out of here. They'll only be shocked for so long and then they're going to want your frelling head. Move!"

She pushes him towards where they left the Prowler and he manages to stay on his feet long enough, though he half collapses again within a few metras.

"Tired," he moans. "So tired."

"Yeah, well, exhausting all your engery like that will make you weary. Yotz, well I guess that answers that question."

He shakes his head. "Which one?"

"The lines, Bialar. Your body has the same lines Talyn did. You can generate the Starburst energy."

"No…"

"Do you want to go back and look at the man you just blew a hole in without a weapon?" she asks tartly.

"Aeryn!"

"Really not the time," she says and pulls him up. "Get in the frelling Prowler. We'll discuss it when we're safe."

"We're? No. You go. I… can't. I might hurt you."

"You haven't done so far. I'll just be sure not to frell you off. Now get in!"

Bialar numbly clambers in, his mind in freefall as the truth of what he's done dawns. Starburst. He stares at his palm, innocuous enough, but apparently deadly. Aeryn climbs into the pilot's seat and yanks down the canopy. He leans back and closes his eyes as the engines fire, feels the microt the fighter lifts off the ground.

They say nothing as the ship soars upwards, climbs into the atmosphere and out into space.

He can't work out how he did it, never mind how it is that he can do it. Or what it even is.

"Aeryn?" he croaks nervously.

"How're you doing?"

"I… I… What am I?"

"A Sebacean-Leviathan hybrid." She snorts a laugh. "Seems fitting since you spent so long trying to make one that you end up becoming your own creation."

He huffs, the shock dissipating somewhat. "You have a warped sense of what is fitting," he replies sourly. "What exactly happened? What did you see?"

"You lit up," she says, wonder creeping into her tone. "Just as Talyn or Moya would going into Starburst. Then you gestured at that man and… well, you know the rest. It was over very quickly."

"I didn't mean to do it," he says, stressing that point, needing her to know that.

"Well, no. I shouldn't have thought so. After all, you didn't know you could do it."

"No, but… What I mean was that there was no conscious attempt. I didn't even think about killing him, just… He fired at you and I wanted to protect you."

"Starburst is a defensive action," Aeryn reminds him. "There was danger and so you acted instinctively."

"On an instinct I did not even know I had."

"You do now."

Bialar says nothing but stares out at the stars. The incident was over too fast for him to figure out at what point instinct might have fired an unknown defensive response. He cannot pin it down – his memory is full of his overwhelming concern for Aeryn. He hopes that he can control it though, because otherwise he is going to present a danger to her.

And he cannot allow anyone to do that. Not even himself.


End file.
